Whispers of a Dream
by Miomi
Summary: Ed is having odd flashbacks, in the form of dreams. What can his past tell him? Finished as is.


Well, this fanfic has been on my mind ever since I remembered something totally random in a dream a couple nights ago. This is definitely going to be a continuation, but each chapter will be able to stand by itself as a story, and as work into a larger plot. I'm hoping. If I don't go mad with the effort first.

Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with FMA, only the fanciful tales of their adventures as they romp through my twisted mind.

* * *

I'm so tired all the time. I only notice that when it's quiet, like if I haven't had a mission or a lead in a few days. My shoulders don't loosen up, and my back can't relax – I'm like an old man, at just seventeen. Can you believe it?

Sleep helps, at least. I can drop onto the bed, completely crash, and wake up under the covers and in pajamas from Al's warm ministrations. Usually, I don't dream, ever, or when I do, it's always abstract and involves a lot of glowing lights and falling rocks. I suppose it makes sense, after I've devoted whole years of my life to finding the Philosopher's Stone.

Tonight, though, I was especially out of it. I was asleep as I walked through the door, and I think Al actually had to carry me to my bed in the end. I felt myself drop onto soft blankets…

…and then the dream started.

* * *

I opened my eyes, and looked at a baby's hand. I could feel my skin, but I couldn't coax a single muscle to move. I seemed to know what was happening immediately, which actually is the case with most dreams. 

This was a memory. I couldn't dredge it up from my mind, but this had happened to me and I could see what I had seen then. The only difference was, my mind, my concepts, and my beliefs were all seventeen years old instead of eleven months.

The scenery shifted. Suddenly, the ceiling was in view above me, and I was being held against warm, soft skin. It was an indescribable feeling, and I knew that if I had control of any part of my body I would be bawling my eyes out. Here, at the sparkling age of twenty-three, was my mother, her stomach swelling with about eight months' worth of my younger brother.

The skin shifted, and rubbed against my cheek as she gave me a butterfly kiss, and set me back down to play. I heard myself laugh, almost from far away, and waddled off to play with a little puppy, that the little girl down the lane had just gotten as a present. My mind clicked, and I realized that my one-year-old brain was giving my currentmind information, but not interpreting it in any way. This was a tiny version of Winry's beloved dog.

"Ed, come feel your brother. I don't even know what I'll name him! Do you have an idea, Honey?" Mom's laughter tinkled through the air, and my senses drank it up like bread to a starving man. Only when I heard a deep, gruff voice behind did I comprehend that my father had been addressed.

"I think I like the name Alphonse, Trisha. You know, just Al for short? I hope he's just as healthy as our Edward already is!" My hand was on her belly, and I felt it shift slightly, and smiled. A little brother! I had been so happy, I knew. I was suddenly lifted, and tossed up a few feet like a rag doll, giggling with that little kid pleasure at being the center of attention.

My father caught me, and spun around in a circle, smiling down at me and humming a little tune. He sang it happily, but the words were morose.

'_The alchemists go in alone,  
__But all come back to march again!  
__The enemy has come and gone,  
__And we'll just have to bare the pain!'_

I recognized it, in my older self. I had heard Mustang singing it, in a low voice, while he was waiting for me. Staying outside the door, I listened to the entire ditty, and knew it was from when the State Alchemists had been sent to do battle. I had always wondered since then why I could mouth the words along with him, but I supposed that now I knew.

Mom sighed disapprovingly, and grunted a little as she levered herself out of her rocking chair. Holding her back, she padded into the kitchen and I heard the old, battered kettle as it was filled with water and dropped on the fire of the old stove. I can still remember watching that same metal as it spat, the old, cheap bronze warping in the heat of the flames that Al and I had set on our own house.

Now I heard it drop to the ground, and was swung around as my father turned quickly toward the door. Mom was on the floor, holding onto the edge of the counter and clutching her distended stomach.

"It's…it's time! Get Mrs. Pinako, hurry!" she gasped, and I heard and felt heavy footsteps as the man I barely knew ran out of the house. I walked unsteadily toward her, and she smiled bravely at me, before wincing in pain. She reached toward me tenderly, and held my face to her shoulder.

I was worried back then, and I heard myself say, "Mommy?" I laughed internally, somewhat embarrassed at being a year old and not understanding anything. My mother clucked like a mother hen at me, and looked into my eyes.

"Ed, sweetie, it just means it's time for you little brother to finally come. Isn't that nice? You'll have so much fun together, I just know it!" I felt her hand clench with the effort of enduring another contraction, and then relax against my cheek. I set my mouth stubbornly.

"Won't if Mommy's hurt!" Ah, yes, to have such eloquent linguistic skills at my age would perhaps be bliss…Mom smiled again, and stroked my hair. She hugged me once more, and then the door burst open and I heard old Pinako speaking calmly.

"We'll need warm water."

"Yes'm!" my father nearly snapped off a salute.

"And she'll need to be in a comfortable bed."

"Right away, Ma'am!"

"…and you'll take the boy to wait with little Winry and her parents. After, return here."

As my father picked me up, I looked back at my mother with tears in my eyes. "Mommy, be okay! Please!" and then the door shut and we were off to Winry's place.

It was a while later. Winry and I (I had to keep reminding myself that she wasn't just _that girl _anymore) had exhausted all the interesting activities to do with a sausage, a bit of string, and a puppy, and we were bored. I had found a piece of chalk somewhere, and was mindlessly drawing a circle on the pavement.

Once I was done with it, I pointed it out for my playmate to see, and she smiled brightly and returned to dismantling her toaster. I mentally rolled my eyes, used to this sort of thing after what she did to my watch. I looked down at it again, and idly outlined a six-point-star, and then the wind picked up.

A bit of dirt skittered across my little design. Annoyed, I tried brushed it away. Next, a few stray leaves landed in the obstinate heap. Without warning, well, I guess except the wind, the sky opened and started dumping buckets on the two of us. Winry squeaked, and hobbled inside, protecting her treasure as best she could by bending over it.

I was very frustrated, and slammed my hands down on the porch. "Stop it!" I yelled (quite possibly, that was my first coherent sentence) and I saw the familiar light from under my father's door to his workplace.

It was alchemic. My seventeen-year-old side completely froze, stunned, and immediately did the arithmetic of it. With a circle like that, and such clumsy initiation, it would turn out something like a muddy blob of leaves. Perhaps closer to mulch, but only barely. Still, I was one, and I was scared, so I picked myself up and dashed inside.

Finally, having disregarded the day's events except for my mother's labor, my father came to get me. We made it back late, and he immediately set me down on the bed with Mom and fell into a chair, run ragged by the dreaded taskmaster Pinako.

"Mommy's alright?" I whispered, not understanding how hurt or sick she was. She opened her eyes – she had been resting – and brought her hands above the blankets with a radiant flourish.

A little, pink, round face eked over a knitted baby's blanket, and I cooed at him. His eyes weren't open, but whose are at a few hours old? Mom guided my arms and hands until I was holding him in my arms, with her supporting most of his weight.

"I'm going to call him Alphonse. What do you think?"

I felt my eyes well up with tears, from either joy or despair, for having a little brother or for the pain my mother must have gone through giving birth to both of us, and I nodded.

The rainstorm outside the windows flashed with lightning, and it filled my eyes and senses and body for the merest fraction of a second, before I opened my gold eyes to see a cold set of iron armor leaning over me.

"Brother? Are you alright? Why are you crying?" Al asked me, worried as usual. I just sat up, and wiped away the last of the salty liquid from my cheeks and eyelashes, and flashed a grin at him.

"Guess what, Al? I have a story to tell you."

* * *

'Ooray! Chater one finished! Now I just have to do that for a long, long, time, become possessed, rip my hair out by the handful, and I'll be famous!

Read and Review, please!


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